


A Matter of Honor

by ghoulsandleprosy



Category: Disco Elysium (Video Game)
Genre: Explicit Language, Extortion, Gen, If I were better at planning then there would be a lot more in this first addition, Murder, as SOON as possible, but alas, this will be completed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:22:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24158809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghoulsandleprosy/pseuds/ghoulsandleprosy
Summary: A new case involving the Seolite Mob in Little Seol, an enclave within the Eminent Domain district of Jamrock, brings our two intrepid detectives to the brink.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12
Collections: Disco Elysium Big Bang





	1. A MATTER OF HONOR - Arriving in Theaters on May 28th!




	2. Carpe Diem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a new case. New people, new surroundings, new crimes, same old folks.
> 
> An (in-progress!) collaboration between myself, Sunnyandme, and Sleepysun on Discord.

WITNESS STATEMENTS

VICTIM’S NAME (LAST, FIRST)  
  
---  
  
DATE

5-12-51

| 

PRECINCT/AREA

Eminent Domain, Jamrock District

| 

CASE NO.

51-EXT-00218  
  
ASSIGNED DETECTIVES

Harrier Du Bois, Kim Kitsuragi  
  
**CHRONOLOGICAL RECORD**

INSTRUCTIONS: This form is used to document any past or future investigative events deemed necessary to control or develop this case.

**Investigation** **Case No. 51-00218**

5-12-51

| 

0700

| 

Notified by Precinct 41 Communications Officer, Sgt. Jules Pidieu, #4812, of an extortion case at Little Seol enclave, in the Eminent Domain quarter of Jamrock.  
  
---|---|---  
| 

0705

| 

Notified my partner, Lt. K. Kitsuragi, #2312, of the extortion case. En route to location.  
  
The rumbling of Kim’s Courpris Kineema is enough to wake you from your ill-advised slumber. Something about this seems familiar, a burning sensation in the back of your mind.

(Oh, yeah. You’ve woken up to the sound of that damned engine before. Two solved cases ago, actually, when you had that life-changing mental breakdown and subsequently told the majority of your colleagues to fuck off. _That_ one, a monumental breakdown for the ages.

Hell, it’s a surprise that a Greek chorus didn’t outline what happened. Or, maybe it did: in the form of said colleagues, and the hazy aftermath of witnesses and criminals, one by one.)

You’re on your third attempt in writing 0735 in the box, under the second column, marked **TIME** , but the Kineema’s powerful engine puts the motor carriage in a constant tremor. Each push of the Lieutenant’s foot against the pedal lurches the entire carriage forward, making you and him lean with it, him with practiced ease and you with a bumbling stagger. You almost drop the clipboard you’re holding, as an embarrassing result.

PERCEPTION [Medium: Success] - You can see, after the motor carriage’s careen, the Lieutenant stifling a slight smile. He _is_ apologetic, you can _see_ that, too, but it’s not like he doesn’t find it amusing.

And then, despite it: “Apologies, detective.” He says, all cool and serious. As quick as the slip of composure is, he’s back to the no-nonsense Lieutenant you know and love, “The motor-carriage is a bit forceful at high speeds.”

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Medium: Success] - The air-cooled, rear-mounted twelve cylinder compression ignition engine is responsible. The Kineema is favored by the police in Revachol for a reason.

The Harry-from two-cases-ago would’ve been unabashed in his curiosity (down to the smallest detail, in fact -- but then again, you _were_ practically comatosed for a few days), but something about this one has you oddly quiet. Focused, perhaps. The absence of drugs and alcohol does something, almost like it helps when you’re not hammered to oblivion and back.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Medium: Success] - Even if it’s boring the hell out of you, right?

It might’ve been boring, but you could do your job better with little to no repercussions that were _definitely_ your fault. Like causing poor Sylvie to quit after your binge. (Yeesh. You _still_ get a good bout of second-hand embarrassment from that wretched day. Hell, that had to be enough to quit, cold turkey.) You like to think that you’re doing much better now, though.

Strangely, there aren’t that many cars on the road. Maybe it was a slow morning, today. Good -- all the quicker to get to the Eminent Domain and, therefore, all the more to get out the quickest. The name got you thinking: what was eminent about it? You couldn’t see too much from the fog that gathered on the windows, but traveling along the 8/81 motorway almost guaranteed a partially-blocked view of it.

LOGIC [Medium: Success] - It’s certainly cold, where you’re going, wherever this place is. You don’t even have to put your hand on the window to know it -- the fog tells you enough.

You’re compelled to look back (and naturally, you do), facing the giant, hazy machinery of the industrial harbour -- _Martinese’s_ harbour, cranes and containers of all colors, all gigantic and looming on the horizon. It’s suffocating. But you’re not sure if a place with a name such as Eminent Domain is any better.

Soon, your curiosity strikes and gets the better of you, and you open your mouth before your brain catches up with it. “So, Eminent Domain?” you ask, and your partner hums in acknowledgement. He’s listening.

“You ever been there?”

The Lieutenant blinks, mostly focused on the road. “To the Domain? No, I can’t say that I have.” He idly drums his thumbs against the steering wheel. The action is the closest he’s allowed himself to shrug, at least for today.

“Why’s it called that?”

LOGIC [Medium: Success] - Well, if the phrase “Eminent Domain” is something to go by, you’d say it wasn’t called such a thing because of its niceties.

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Challenging: Success] - Eminent Domain, something you’ve heard the odd Revacholian complain about for time to time, refers to the right of a government to take private property for public use by virtue of the superior dominion of the sovereign power over all lands within its jurisdiction.

LOGIC [Medium: Success] - Now, in English.

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Challenging: Success] - The government probably seized the place and all the land around it. Maybe that’s how it got its name.

DRAMA [Formidable: Failure] - Drab. You could probably come up with something better for it. You should.

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Formidable: Failure] - On second thought, you doubt that the ominous name means anything. It’s just a name. Doesn’t have much to do with the case other than it being the location on file.

It briefly occurs to you that this might just be your brain trying to rattle you up, again. The Lieutenant notices, eyes briefly flickering to you before focusing on the road again. “Your tie isn’t talking to you again, is it?” He asks. The question sounds like it’s made in jesting, but there’s a worry, there, in your head -- like, maybe it isn’t.

You compulsively look down at said tie to find that it’s remarkably quiet. The Lieutenant’s eyes crinkle in the corners, like he’s smiling with _them_ rather than his mouth.

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] - Okay. Maybe it’s a _little_ funny.

The Lieutenant is careful with proceeding, then. He wants to make sure that you’re paying attention so that he doesn’t have to repeat himself. “I haven’t got a clue why it’s called that.” He says. Nothing wrong with admitting that you don’t know something. “But, that’s where the call was taken and that’s where the crime happened, so that’s where we’re going.”

You have half a mind to ask your partner if he’s ever even _been_ outside of Martinese (not counting the harbor; that’s cheating) but you think better of it when you glance down and see that the **CHRONOLOGICAL RECORD** is still startlingly empty.

Maybe it’s best to focus on that for the rest of the ride, instead.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**CHRONOLOGICAL RECORD**

INSTRUCTIONS: This form is used to document any past or future investigative events deemed necessary to control or develop this case.

**Investigation** **Case No. 51-00218**

5-12-51

| 

0700

| 

Notified by Precinct 41 Communications Officer, Sgt. Jules Pidieu, #4812, of an extortion case at Little Seol enclave, in the Eminent Domain quarter of Jamrock.  
  
---|---|---  
| 

0705

| 

Notified my partner, Lt. K. Kitsuragi, #2312, of the extortion case. En route to location.  
  
| 

0845

| 

~~Breaking new ground~~ Arrived in Little Seol, Eminent Domain. En route to the scene. Briefed by patrol officer Judit Minot , #2272, of incident via radio.  
  
The first thing that hits you about Eminent Domain is that it’s freezing cold.

SHIVERS [Challenging: Success] - It’s not just freezing cold. There’s a burning chill, a numbness that fights its way to your bone the moment you step out of the motor carriage.

Focus. Tune your ears. Eyes on. What do you see?

SHIVERS [Challenging: Success] - The skylight is riddled with abandoned buildings, with the little streets that were built being packed with ever-growing dirt and debris. They’re towering blocks of twisted metal that are close to blotting out the presence of Innocence, and anything else for that matter, the snow densely packed amongst the streets. It fits the temperature.

The Industrial Harbor is a cakewalk compared to this. The lorries might have been packed on that tiny road back there, but in the Domain, it’s a mass of beasts. Bumper to bumper, making the sorry inhabitants breathe in an air quality so bad that there might as well be no air quality at all.

If you squint your eyes at the putrid grey skies, you can see it. See what?

SHIVERS [Challenging: Success] - A black substance, falling from the sky.

DRAMA [Challenging: Failure] - Meteorite? Volcanic ash?

LOGIC [Heroic: Failure] - Whatever it is, it’s not supposed to be happening. Sure as hell _looks_ outlandish, though. Something that isn’t explainable just yet. Perhaps it’s something that could never be explained.

Despite the cold, the two of you press on. It’s surprisingly lively, purely in the population aspect, perhaps even to spite the earlier pollution. People rushing from here to there, a sea of them, all focused on their own misgivings, but pockets of them trying their best to make a phoenix rise from the ashes.

RHETORIC [Medium: Success] - Good on them. Resilient. Those bigwigs killed the city, but people still get by. They _have_ to, because they’re the ones left picking up the pieces.

It doesn’t take much to find Little Seol. Just look past the bland color of the rest of the Eminent Domain, all the greys and dark blues and ugly greens, and follow the noise.

SHIVERS [Challenging: Success] - A fantastic blast of color hits you. You see it, swirling, intense reds and yellows, whites and blues. Great huge brick buildings with homemade (read: simple) scaffolding holding red and white balloons, hanging. Wooden structures with tiled or thatched roofs. Sliding doors in place of walls.

Something, you don’t know what, tells you to look up. One of the old road signs, rusted to the point of incoherency, ought to have an answer. Maybe if you stare at it long enough. (Who needs directions when you’ve got signage, right?)

PERCEPTION [Challenging: Success] - It isn’t all that rusted. If you squint, focus hard enough… you can just _barely_ make out the letters: LA PISTE SOLIDE. Course, most of the lettering is gone, scratched off by drunks or angry folks or bored teenagers or rendered to dust by the Pale itself. You don’t know that much, only that the only letters that you can actually _see_ with minimal effort are bolded, like someone inked over them to ensure that it lasted: L S E OL .

Jackpot. You turn around, look for your partner -- there he is, ever stalwart and dependable in that orange bomber jacket. (You need to get yourself one of those, next time. That disco-ass blazer isn’t really doing you any favors.) But, where’s the motor carriage?

It’s almost as if Kim can see the question forming on your brow, the stressed creases of it. He’s right to expect it.  
  
“Where’d your car go?” It’s a ridiculous question and your partner knows it. It’s also an honest one, too. It’s a bit difficult to feign that you’ve got a good head on your shoulders when you go around asking questions like that.

Still, Kim answers, “Back there. We’ve been walking for some time, now.”  
  
Really? You didn’t even notice how far the two of you walked until now. Maybe it was the cold. The motor carriage had to be at least a couple of blocks back, in a maze of cracked asphalt and shoveled, man-made roads. That Jamrock shuffle of yours certainly didn’t seem to be getting any slower.

Eventually, after following the dilapidated street sign, the pair of you come to a peculiar-looking sight. Some kind of cultural marker that, quite frankly, you’re surprised is still standing, given the rest of the ramshackle district. A red bridging gate of some sort, old, traditional-looking, with an overhead arch. It makes for a good spot to take cover from the pouring rain or, in this case, the freezing snow. But, perhaps most important, is the worn sign above it:

LITTLE SEOL.

  
You’re _definitely_ in the right spot, now.

**Author's Note:**

> Damn, bro, schoolwork, essays and procrastination are a hell of a concoction to be writing under. But, being this is my first ever contribution to a big bang as well as my first published fic, I think I'm doing alright. (AO3 *really* needs some insertable tables and differing fonts, though. Or maybe it already has that and I'm just demonstrating my noobieness. Wouldn't make the CHRONOLOGICAL RECORD file look so wonky.)


End file.
